


Boys Over Toys

by Nihonbara



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6745555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihonbara/pseuds/Nihonbara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alfred F. Jones transfers to Hetalia High, a school for the rich and powerful, he soon finds himself standing up to Ivan Braginsky. The one guy not even the teachers can mess with. However, now Ivan is crushing on Alfred in the creepiest ways possible. (Based on "Boys Over Flowers". Gakuen Hetalia)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fresh Meat

**Author's Note:**

> This work is also posted on fanfiction.com where it is currently at chapter 12. I plan to catch it up on this site over the next few days.

It was hard to believe that ten minutes ago Eduard Von Bock had not been running for his life. That his day had been normal. That he had been still unaware of the dreaded red card waiting in his locker, ready to be discovered upon opening.

Now a mob of his peers pursued him down the dark wood-paneled hallways of Hetalia High School. His dark blue blazer — once a symbol of pride for him with the school logo stitched in gold thread on the left breast — was caked in flour and drying egg yolk, as was his darkly-colored hair. The left lens of his square-framed glasses had cracked when he had slipped and hit against a locker in his scramble to get away. If they caught him, blood would also decorate his uniform.

In his left hand he held a mop — his only weapon — acquired from his run through a classroom. It would not stop them all, but it was all he had.

As he rounded a corner, his heart sank to see a group of students at the end of the hall. He saw the realization in their eyes and the growing smile on their lips. Rather than be surrounded, he threw his momentum sharply right and up the stairs, taking advantage of his long-striding frame to ascend several steps at a time.

They howled in protest, but they were too late.

He flew around the steel door leading to the roof, slammed it shut, and rammed the mop through its handle and the hook on the wall — one likely used to padlock the door shut.

He backed away, panting for air. His fear-riddled brain could only react. A small gasp escaped his lips when the students threw themselves at the door, beating at it, snarling for him to open it.

"Leave me alone!" he shouted, sliding his loafers backwards across the asphalt of the roof. He clutched at his stomach, wanting to throw up, feeling sick with horror. "Go away!"

A few chuckled as they continued to hit the door. The mop handle started to crack. He spun around, searching for escape and saw the enormous cooling tower on the opposite corner. There could be a fire escape!

He ran in what felt like the slow motion of a nightmare. Eduard heard the mop snap in two, the door fly open and dozen of feet spill out after him.

Above flew a black crow in the blue sky, peacefully unaware of the violence about to take place below. Of the monster coming for him.

Please! Please! He begged, only to find nothing behind the tower but a corner of the roof and the courtyard below.

Students stared up, tiny figures, waiting eagerly for the show. Before he could attempt to climb onto the grey clay tiling, hands seized him and dragged him back. He struggled and shrieked as they carried him by his arms and legs.

They took him to the center of the roof and forced him to his knees, pinning his wrists behind him. His face was forced upward when someone grabbed the hair on the back of his head, almost tearing it out by the roots. Hot blood pounded in his temples.

"Please, please, please don't do this!" He pleaded. They only laughed. He recognized a couple class mates who once upon a time had smiled and greeted him.

No one in this school had a heart.

The crowd split apart for the true monster: Ivan Braginski.

A mountain of a senior whose large, blocky head was capped by ash-blond hair like snow on a tall mountain. He moved as if in no hurry, patting one end of his faucet pipe — an item no teacher dared confiscate — against one palm while his violet-hued eyes regarded Eduard.

The small smile on his pale lips was cruel; the smile of a predator delighting in the cruel torment it would soon unleash on his prey. He giggled, sending a chill through Eduard's insides.

"Pl-please…" Eduard sobbed, snot running down his upper lip, tasting salty in his mouth as it mixed with his tears. "F-forgive me. It was an accident."

Ivan's smile widened, but revealed none of those pearl-white teeth. His eyes held nothing. They were dead and empty of life as the sockets of a skull. This was a man who had everything, the son of "General Winter", one of the most ruthless business woman on the planet. She was the cold-hearted owner of multi-billion dollar company, Winter Corporations.

That was why Hetalia High's one rule was never piss off Ivan. Only he and his underlings, the Bad Touch Trio, could defy the rules, only they never wore uniforms. Ivan always wore, as now, his long brown coat and pale brown scarf.

"You are forgiven," Ivan said coldly. A mad glee overtook his eyes, one that consumed the features of his face. A face girls swooned over.

For a moment Eduard felt a hopeful flutter, crushed when Ivan lifted his pipe. "No! Don't!"

And Ivan swung downward, connecting with a brutal crack.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A Couple Months Later

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alfred caught glimpses of his new school, Hetalia High, between the autumn-tinged foliage of the trees. It stood proud atop this really steep hill that his dirt bike — Tony as he called it — crawled up. He pumped the pedals up and down, standing over the bike's fork.

His thigh muscles worked; sweat dripped from the ends of his straw-colored bangs, one particular gravity-defying curl drooped a little more than usual. He ground his teeth, grunting as he refused to walk the bike.

A continues stream of limos and expensive-looking cars zipped by along the curving road, taking no care of Alfred on the shoulder. More than a couple times he had almost been clipped.

As tough as the hill was, Alfred looked forward to speeding down it after school. The wind would blow in his face and he would feel as if he was flying. It was something his father, Tino, and his twin brother, Matthew, would never approve of. But what they didn't know couldn't hurt them.

They had never been prouder than when Alfred received his letter telling him he had received a scholarship to Hetalia High — a school for the elite. It was an honor to go and he had been selected as one of their "underprivileged" enrollments. Something about a sudden opening.

He knew deep down it was his essay about changing the world through heroic deeds that got him in. Matthew had called him crazy, but he had been bold. One should never be afraid of risks.

His white T-shirt clung to his chest. His blue hoodie wrapped around his waist and the fabric of his red jogging pants swished he moved his legs.

Perspiration dripped form his round chin and stung his eyes. His glasses kept slipping down his straight-bridged nose to rest on the tip. Luckily, he had a band around his neck that prevented them from falling off. They were his only pair since his last broke. He had named them Texas because they made him feel like Superman hidden as Clark Kent.

"C'mon, Tony," he said.

Tony was a BMX bike with a big grey alien-shaped bumper sticker slapped over the GT logo of its triple triangle frame. He didn't care if Tony was older than him, had rust in places, and had seen better days. They belonged together. Tony suited Alfred's broad-shouldered frame perfectly.

At last the tree line opened into a a clear view of the fabled school crowning the hill top. It was a place befitting a king, a series of colonnaded buildings with clay-tiled roofing and grecian designs. He had to crane his neck to stare, reading the the unsaid message: You are beneath me.

Alfred grinned, eager to explore his new school that he had transferred to as a junior. In the brochure it said there was an observatory and Alfred couldn't wait to see that. Astronomy was a hobby of his.

Riding up to the high arch gate with a small white guardhouse on either side, from which a guard waved the cars through, lifting the barrier each time, Alfred braked. A bronze sign to the side, affixed to the wall, read: Hetalia School For the Gift, a place for the exceptional to achieve the exceptional.

A guard came out, chubby and grey-haired, in a blue uniform that strained in places, as if he'd been thinner when he first started wearing it. He eyed Alfred up and down, patting the night stick at his hip.

"All right, are you making a delivery?" the officer asked, Billy by what his gold name tag said.

"Nope," Alfred said, putting on his most charming grin. "I'm a new student. Just transferred in."

"New student?" the guard said skeptically, then his thick, bushy eye brows went up his wrinkled forehead. "Oh let me guess, an underprivileged transfer?"

Alfred nodded. "Yup, that's right."

"Where's your uniform?"

"Right here," Alfred said, adjusting the strap of his backpack as he reached around to pat the black duffle bag tied to the top of his bike's vender. "I didn't want it to get all sweaty. I heard there were showers in the gym so I figured I'd get here early, check in, and rinse off and change."

"You bike all the way here?" Billy said in shock. "From the city?"

"Well, it's not so bad," Alfred said defensively. "I take a bus some of the way. The driver is real nice and lets me take my bike on."

"No one can drive you?"

"My family doesn't have a car. Ours broke down last year," Alfred said, reluctant to admit they couldn't afford the repairs. Berwald, his stepfather, had been tinkering with it and trying to repair it through parts he bought online.

"I see," Billy said. "What was your name?"

"Alfred F. Jones," he said proudly. Jones was the name his fathers agreed on when they moved to the US.

"Ah, the Jones kid," he said. "Do you have your student card?"

"Um… do you know where I can find administration," Alfred said, digging out his leather wallet from his backpack and flashing his ID before he was waved through.

"It's the first building you'll see at the end of the lane," he said pointing a cobble-stone lined drive lined by neatly-manicured treats with a marble statue set between each. At the very end was a large grecian building with pillars at the front and a fountain.

"Thanks," Alfred said and started to take off when the guard said one more thing that caused him to stop.

"Word of advice, kid. Keep your head down when you're in there. They'll sniff out your status like blood hounds. Don't take it too hard. And don't make enemies."

"Who couldn't love me?" Alfred joked and waved before heading off.

And yet he couldn't shake the nervous tone in the guard's voice. He sounded afraid of something.


	2. Iron Quartet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the Bad Boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so new to AO3 that I'm having trouble figuring out some of the formatting.

Lost was an understatement for Alfred's situation.

With a frustrated sigh, he once again looked at the clipboard with his schedule and map — a map that he swore looked more like a sketch of pasta. In fact, the Pangea Building — what he sought — looked very similar to a meat ball.

He questioned what had been on the secretary's mind when he drew this in the Administration building. That Feliciano had kept mentioning pasta while explaining things to Alfred.

At least Alfred had found the gym and his locker. After showering and changing into the blue blazer and plaid pants of his uniform, he stowed his duffle bag and now only lugged around his backpack.

"Not again," he groaned, exiting the the Grecian-style building to once more find himself in the same lavish courtyard of neatly-trimmed hedges, flower beds, and trees that was interspersed with cobbled walkways. A place he had already wandered into three times from three different directions.

A set of high-pitched giggles turned his attention to three girls crowded together on the marble edge of the courtyard's centerpiece: a fountain. One from which four white horses leapt from its center, spitting water as cherubs floated beneath their hooves.

The girls wore heavy make-up and had hiked-up their plaid skirts. They were takings selfies with a selfie stick and make various faces.

Slapping on his best grin, he approached and said, "Morning, ladies. I was wondering if you could help me…" he trailed off as their smiles turned to scowls. They eyed him up and down like the T-1000 scanning, their gazes lingering on his scuffed brown leather loafers, his cheap wristwatch and non-brand name glasses.

With a loud and unified sniff, they stood up and walked off, leaving Alfred feeling more self-conscious than he ever had in his life. What was so wrong with not being rich?

A knot of frustration welled inside him and he kicked a loose rock hard. It flew through the air and a rose bush. There was a loud yelp and he panicked, running over, calling, "Oh man, I'm sorry! Did I hit you? Are you okay?"

He gaped as he came around the rose bush to find a slender-framed man sitting on a marble bench under an oak. He was holding his left shoulder and staring at Alfred in surprise with his deep-set, green eyes. There was an aura of shyness about his narrow, plain face. His light brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. On one side of him was a green thermos and on the other was an open packet of saltines.

"Dude, you all right?" Alfred asked, rushing over. "I'm really sorry. I was lost and I got frustrated. It won't bruise, I hope."

The boy's thin eyebrows lifted as Alfred touched his hand and tried to peek under his blazer. He scooted away and Alfred let go, noticing the boy's faint blush.

Finally, the boy asked softly, "It wasn't on purpose?"

Alfred frowned. "No, why would it be?"

"Are… are you new here?"

"Uh, yeah. Just arrived today. Alfred F. Jones at your service," he said, sticking out his hand and grinning.

The boy stared at him and suddenly came out of his stupor and took Alfred's hand, eyes widening at the vigorous shake.

"I-I'm Toris Laurinaitus."

"Nice to meet ya, Toris! Can I call you Tory?"

"S-sure." The boy stood up, dusting crumbs from his lap. In a very soft voice, he whispered, "You have a nice smile."

"Pardon?"

"O-oh, did I speak out loud?" Toris said, clapping his hands over his cheeks. "Y-You said you were lost. I could show you around."

"Really?" Alfred said, lighting up. "That would be awesome!" He almost dragged Toris into a bear-hug until he remembered the bruised shoulder. Showing Toris the map, he asked, "Do you know where the Pangea building? I need to find my history class?"

Toris took the clipboard, a furrow creasing his brow. "Is this a drawing of pasta?"

"You see it as well! Its supposed to be a map!"

"Ah, Feliciano's working today." Toris nodded in understanding.

A loud whirring noise above broke their conversation and Alfred looked up, glimpsing between gaps in the canopy a black helicopter flying by overhead.

"Is… that Star Flight or something?" Alfred asked.

"N-No, that's erm… one of the students arriving."

"By helicopter?!" Alfred gaped, almost falling over. "You serious? Who arrives by helicopter?"

"Ivan does. A word of warning. Stay out of Ivan Braginiski's way no matter what. He is the de-facto leader of this school."

"How come?"

"Because his mother runs Winter Corporations. They call her General Winter," Toris said, staring sadly at the clipboard, as if troubled by something.

"Wait… Winter Corporations. He's the heir to the Winter Corporations."

"Indeed," Toris said with a nod.

Alfred gave a whistle. "The students here are nuts. Well, I ain't afraid of bullies. I've been standing up to them my whole life. They're all the same. One good punch to the face and they go down. They're just cowards at heart. Most made the mistake of picking on my brother."

"I don't know how things worked where you came from. But here, don't mess with Ivan or his friends," Toris said, touching Alfred's arm, his voice full of concern and warning.

"What will he do? Get me expelled?"

"He'll make you wish you were never born."

By lunch, Alfred and Toris were almost inseparable. Toris seemed as happy as Alfred to have a friend — as if one outcast had befriend another.

While filling in Toris on his love of UFO stories and the video games he would buy if he had money, they entered the cafeteria and Alfred fell silent.

He gaped in awe at the masonry of Hetalia. This room, aside from its posh cosmetics, was fireproof, built almost entirely of brick, marble, and stones. The room was furnished with expensive, custom-made marble-topped black walnut furniture and decorated with paintings of aristocrats from various eras of Europe. The floor had rose-veined marble and a nearby staircase led up to a balcony. Its stairway had a red rope blocking entry up the wide steps and gold-plated railing. A chandelier hung above, casting a golden light on the room.

Was this a ball room or an eating area?

The seating capacity looked big enough for at least two hundred. There were butlers and maids darting in and out of a kitchen carrying silver trays with bowls of soups and various dishes.

Dozens and dozens of round tables with white silk clothes and sets of golden silverware and crystal glasses were everywhere. Most were half-filled. Toris grabbed his sleeve with his thumb and forefinger and pulled Alfred one way, saying, "Over here."

So lost in staring, Alfred hardly noticed Toris pull out his chair as he sat down. "There's a menu?" Alfred gasped, picking up the red leather menu with gold imprinted letters on the front. Inside were french words. "I can't read it."

"Oh, it doesn't matter. They'll bring you a full course. I recommend the pasta one."

"No hamburgers?" Alfred asked, feeling downcast.

Suddenly, music began to play and he twisted around in his seat, jaw falling open as red velvet curtain lifted to reveal a stage where a small orchestra began playing soft music.

"You're kidding," Alfred said.

"They didn't have music at your school?" Toris asked, sounding surprised.

"Not that like that," Alfred said. "And they did't have paintings and sculptures.

After their order was taken and their food brought, Alfred found himself listening to Toris prattle on about art and literature. When suddenly, loud cheering broke out from the entrance and everyone left their seat, clustering there.

"What now? Don't tell me Johnny Depp's visiting," Alfred said sarcastically.

"Oh that was a couple months ago," Toris said and Alfred slapped a palm against his forehead. "I guess Ivan and his minions, the Bad Touch Trio are visiting today."

"That Ivan fellow again?" Alfred said, standing up.

"What are you doing?" Toris asked, standing up as well and depositing his table cloth on the cushion. "Don't go near."

"I just want to look," Alfred said, crossing the room and weeding through the screaming crowd. Girls jumped up and down.

Toris stayed close to him and whispered behind him. "Al… this is dangerous. They're volatile."

Then the crowd thundered as a very handsome man with an slightly-unshaven look entered. He flicked his long, blonde hair and adjusted his elaborate blue cape and coat before winking and blowing kisses at the crowd.

"He's not wearing a uniform. Is he a teacher?" Alfred asked over his shoulder, having to half-yell to be heard.

"None of them wear uniforms. The rules don't apply to them," Toris said. "That's Francis Bonnaparte. He flirts with everyone and on Valentine's day goes streaking across the school."

Alfred slowly craned his head back to stare at Toris with an arched eyebrow. The man shrugged.

"He always wears french brands and his father is Louis Bonnapart."

"Wait… the Iron Chef?" Alfred gasped and Toris nodded. "Wow."

Matthew and Tino would be jealous. His father's show was their Sunday routine.

"Be careful. He's bisexual and will grope anyone he finds attractive."

Just as Toris said that, Francis's eyes set on Alfred and he smirked, blowing Alfred a kiss that Alfred felt a need to dodge. Then Francis continued on, removing the velvet rope as he climbed the stairs.

Next strolled in a white-hair albino in a green coat with many buckles and tight designer-cut jeans. He had a cocky grin and what had to be colored contacts. His ears were pierced with silver studs. Beside him was an olive-skinned, equally attractive man with a red coat and tight black pants. He carried a can of tomato juice that he kept sipping from.

"Who're they?" Alfred asked.

"The albino is Gilbert. I always forget how to say his last name. His father is Old Fritz. Have you heard of the band 'On the Fritz'?"

"Have I?" Alfred almost shouted, wide-eyed. "Holy shit? You serious? His dad is a rock god. Mattie gonna be so jealous. And him?"

"That's Antonio. There are rumors that his family is in the wine business, but other's say the mafia. The less you ask. The better."

If the crowd had been loud before, the thundered as in Alfred saw a man who could only be described as Alfred's wet dream come to life. While his family knew of Alfred's preferences, Alfred had never seen a guy in real life he would actually say he was attracted to. Matthew always said Alfred was too picky. Now his type had taken form and strolled in a long brown coat with a light-brown scarf.

"Ivan Braginsky," Toris breathed close to his ear, barely audible above the crowd. "If he brings out his pipe, you're in trouble."

Pipe? Alfred wanted to ask, but he was too lost in staring. He wondered if the pipe was a euphemism of some sort. He couldn't believe the school let someone carry around a pipe. At his previous school the staff at least attempted to confiscate weapons from the gangs.

Those violet eyes were under hooded eyelids that gave Ivan a bored look. Yet there was something so empty in that gaze that when it touched on Alfred and lingered there for a moment he felt rooted to the spot. His breath caught. Heart speeding up. How could someone look so beautiful, yet have such soulless eyes.

He looked like a man whose heart fell out long ago and he left it behind.

Ivan suddenly stopped and his hand shot out, grabbing the boy a foot from Alfred and dragged him out of the crowd by the front of his shirt. Everyone fell silent and watched intently.

"You have three seconds," Ivan said coldly. Then, to Alfred's horror, he giggled, pale lips curving up in a smile.

"I-I'm sorry," the boy begged. He was a scrappy thing with acne on his face and red-hair.

"One," Ivan said.

People smiled to Alfred's disgust.

"Two," Ivan said, eyes darkening.

"Pl-please. What did I do?"

"Three," Ivan said and shook his head. "Antonio. Your juice."

He held out a hand. Antonio looked annoyed and Francis stared from halfway up the stairs and gave an eye roll. Antonio came over and handed Ivan the can.

Then Ivan stepped back and upturned the contents all over the boy, red liquid running down his face and onto the shoulders of his blazer. He tensed, lowering his head in shame.

Alfred's hands curled and fists. He was about to say something when Toris caught his wrist. Glancing behind him, he saw Toris mouthing, "no" and shaking his head. Then he thought of Matthew and Tino. He couldn't get into trouble his first day, could he?

Ivan smiled and dropped the can. "Clean yourself up," he said and continued on up the stairs, as if nothing had happened.

The crowd dispersed, people snickering at the boy who stood head bowed and finally he ran off in tears.

Alfred continued to stand there in shock, finally letting Toris tug him back to the table. He sat in a daze and finally snapped, "What the hell was that?"

"That was Ivan Braginski. And he cab do whatever he wants," Toris said.

Suddenly, Alfred felt something was seriously wrong with this school and that kid Ivan. He felt ashamed that he, the Hero, had just stood there.

But he didn't want to get kicked out.

Yet… he shuddered remembering that cold look in Ivan's eyes. The man looked dead inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of the Flower 4 like in the comic, I used "Iron Quartet". For the joke, look at the acronym that makes.


	3. A Fist To The Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred puts a bully in his place.

Since class let out early that day, Toris took Alfred on a tour of the campus. After a quick stop for ice cream at the cafeteria, both began ascending the highest hill on campus to the Observatory.

Gulping down the last of his ice cream scone, Alfred said, "I can't believe how much homework they gave me. My backpack feels eighty pounds heavier! How do students here do all this?"

Toris walked on his right up the cobble-stone path that snaked around the hill top. Behind Toris were well-trimmed elms and oaks, as well as more grecian-style statues.

While continuing to slowly lick his partly-melted vanilla ice cream, Toris said, "They don't. They have hired help do it."

Alfred halted, saying, "Say what? You're joking right?" The look in Toris's green eyes said it all. "You're not joking? They cheat?"

"I believe most here call it 'outsourcing'."

Running a hand through his hair, Alfred turned away, facing the foot high brick wall on his left. The only purpose of the wall was to create a border between here and the dirt path four feet below, the one that led to the pools. A path mostly obscured by tree branches.

Too angry to form a coherent sentence at first, Alfred groaned. Then finally, he rounded on Toris. "But if they don't do the work, won't they fail the tests?"

"No. All important notes and flashcards are written in advance by their help. Besides, I doubt the teachers would ever fail the students here. Everyone has a GPA of near perfect 4.0."

"They didn't earn those grades!"

Toris shrugged. "It isn't about what they earned. Their parents have an army of lawyers who'd sue administration if it ruined their childrens' perfect stroll into the Ivy Leagues. Also it would hurt their feelings to fail. You see, they really tried and they deserve an A for effort!"

"That's bull crap!" Alfred said in a voice louder than he intended it to be. "Who cares about their feelings! There is right and wrong!"

"Not really. They'd argue for moral relativism," Toris said. "The rich kids here love moral relativism. It makes it easy to excuse their behavior. Since bad deeds are all relative. Most here avoid feeling guilt for what they do by arguing over if what they do is really wrong. In fact, is there really a wrong?"

"What? You kidding me? How is cheating justified? How is bullying justified?"

"Trust me. They'll spin it to their advantage and make you sound like an idiot who is stuck in archaic traditions. You still believe in heroes. I've heard more than a few argue there are no such things. That there is no such thing as good and evil. It's very convenient for them," Toris said. "That's how it works here."

"I don't think I like this place…" Alfred said, stuffing his hands in the pocket of the blazer. He went over and hopped up on the brick wall and began walking along it.

"Be careful. You could fall," Toris said nervously.

"Eh," Alfred said. "I have a good sense of balance. Besides," he glanced down, "it's not that much of a drop. Do you… do you outsource?"

"No," Toris said quickly. "I'm a deviant who believes that learning is its own reward. And I believe in heroes."

"Good." Alfred grinned at him and Toris looked away with a shy smile and reddened cheeks.

"If… if you want, I could help with the homework. Here, let's exchange numbers." Toris fumbled in his leather bag, pulling out his I-Phone 6S. It had a simple case with Lithuania's flag on the back.

"Um…" Alfred was reluctant to admit he had no cell phone. Thinking fast, he said brightly, "How about I give you my email?"

"Uh… sure." Disappointment washed over Toris' face.

"Don't take it the wrong way. I… erm… forgot my phone!" Alfred lied. "When I remember it, will exchange numbers." He could hit himself. How would he get out of this one?

After taking a red pen and scrap of paper out of the front of his back pack, Alfred jotted down the information and handed it over to Toris who slipped it away in the pocket of his pants. Alfred figured he could use Tino's dinosaur of a computer to chat by email.

"I'll email you tonight!"

"Sure, but I won't be able to answer until late," Alfred said, sure he'd have to study between breaks. "I've got work."

"You work?"

"Only part time. It's just a favor my brother and I do." Another lie. The favor was the owner giving them the jobs with such flexible hours. "My work is halfway between here and home so it's on the way. My uniform is also in my duffle bag."

"That sounds rough."

"It's not so bad. Mattie and I always have Sundays off."

"Oh," Toris said, eyebrows lifting, as if he had remembered something.

"What?"

"I forgot. We actually shouldn't go to the Observatory today."

"Why not?"

"Because on days where Ivan comes to school, I've heard he likes to lurk in this area," Toris said. "He is fond of the Observatory. But… probably it's fine."

"What? Does he have a thing for astronomy or something?" Alfred asked, as they continued along leisurely. The look on Toris told him everything. "Aw, dude. Not cool! That's my interest! I don't want to share it with him. At least he's not into chess."

"Actually…"

"What?" Alfred whined. "You're kidding! Those are my interests! And I'm great at them."

"Ivan's said to be a former junior chess champ."

"Ah, great!" Alfred said in way that made it sound like a curse. He wobbled for a moment, but steadied himself.

"You shouldn't do that. You'll fall."

"It's fine," Alfred said. "Like I said. I've a great sense of balance. How about you come up here?"

He beamed at Toris and held out a hand. For some reason, Toris' eyes stared up into his own, a growing blush staining Toris' round face.

"A-All right," the boy said, taking the hand.

"That's the spirit!" Alfred said, yanking him up.

Unfortunately, while Alfred was good at balance, he was a poor judge of his own strength and pulled too hard sending Toris over the edge rather than on to it. With a cry, Toris fell, dragging Alfred with him. And both tumbled down, snapping a couple branches in their fall, and landed hard on the ground.

Alfred gasped and wheezed, pushing onto his knees, feeling there was no air in the world. "You… all right?" he mouthed, more than said, trying to draw in air.

Toris, on his hands and knees, seemed to have frozen solid. His gaze was fixed on something beyond Alfred; dawning horror spread across his bland features. Color drained from his face that turned grayer and grayer by the second.

Curious what terrified Toris, Alfred followed his gaze to Toris' fallen ice cream cone then to the very expensive-looking leather shoe its remaining ice cream had splattered across, then up the pant leg of the shoes' owner, up and up until Alfred stared straight into the opal eyes of Ivan.

At first, Ivan appeared surprised, then his eyes darkened and narrowed and his gaze shifted to Toris, settling upon him like he were a worm that had dared to poke its head out of the dirt.

On one side of Ivan sat Francis and, on the other, Antonio who both looked on in stunned silence. Gilbert, still trying to look up the toga of a half-naked female statue, finally glanced over, noticing what had happened.

As Ivan rose to his feet, his shadow fell over Alfred and Toris. Toris uttered a gasping whimper and looked as if he were trying to physically crawl inside himself.

Standing up, Alfred grabbed Toris arm, pulling him up. His friend slowly stood up and Alfred stepped protectively between Toris and Ivan. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but Alfred swore Ivan's gaze lingered on Toris' slender fingers gripping at Alfred's sleeve before they latched back onto Toris.

When Ivan gave that cruel smile, Alfred felt as if his heart had climbed into his throat and was attempting to crawl out. The air boiled with menace.

In a quavering voice, Toris said, "I-I'm s-s-sorry. L-let m-me buy a new p-pair."

Giggling, Ivan spoke coldly, "You can't. These were handcrafted by the late Roma Vargas in Italy. What will you do? Fly over to Florence and dig him up?"

"Then… then I'll clean them. They'll be spotless," Toris said, a soft sob escaping. He hiccuped and clutched tighter at Alfred's sleeve.

"Clean them?" Ivan said thoughtfully, tilting his head. Something in that tone disturbed Alfred. And the giggle that followed was worse. "Da. You will."

"Send them to me and I'll —."

"Nyet," Ivan interrupted. "That takes too long. You'll clean them now."

"But… I…" Toris sounded worried and confused. "I don't have the items."

Francis averted his gaze, while Gilbert gave a bored eyeroll, but Antonio watched in interest. They seemed to know what Ivan was up to. When Ivan lifted his shoe, Alfred had a growing suspicion. A coldness welled up in the pit of his stomach and a sense of revulsion.

"You have everything you need," Ivan said. "Lick it clean. With your tongue."

A gasp escaped Toris who squeezed tightly on Alfred's sleeve. "But… I… I …"

"You don't want forgiveness? And I was being so kind," Ivan said. "I'll let you off easy if you lick it clean."

A wave of queasiness washed over Alfred whose hands balled into fists. He thought of all the times kids had picked on his brother, bullies always went after the weak. He glanced at Toris who had turned grey in the face and looked about to faint.

"Well," Ivan said in an expectant voice. "I don't have all evening."

And Alfred had no more patience. In a blink, he stepped forward and shoved his palm against Ivan's chest, yelling, "What the fuck is wrong with you? He said he was sorry! It was an accident! They happen. And it was my fault he fell! Just back the hell off!"

All eyes fell on Alfred, as if he were being examined under a microscope. While Ivan's gaze was cold and calculating, the Bad Touch Trio shared mirrored expressions of shock. Ivan's aura of intimidation seemed to grow, but Alfred wouldn't have it. He lifted his chin, squaring his shoulders.

"You're that gutter rat they invited in. Everyone has been talking of you. You brag you're a hero."

"Coz I am!"

A corner of Ivan's mouth lifted in a pouty smile. While he wore a child-like pout, his voice spoke in a sneer. "Prove it, hero. Take your friend's place and lick my shoe clean. Then I'll forgive everything."

There was an audible gasp behind him. Alfred's insides went close as he glanced from the shoe to Ivan and then to Toris who stood trembling and about to pass out.

"Wh-what?" Alfred said, almost stupidly, mind not believing this. He slightly shook his head. "You can't be serious."

"Go on, hero. Save your damsel."

There was a chuckle from Antonio who watched in fascination. On the other hand, Francis seemed immersed in his glittery smart phone.

"Gilbert," Ivan said suddenly and the white-haired man jumped.

"What?"

"Record this," Ivan said, waving for the other to come over. "I want to remember this hero's noble deed."

"All right," Gilbert said, coming around and holding up his smart phone to flim. It had a black casing with the Tetonic Cross in silver on the back. "Gonna be awesome."

"You people are sick!" Alfred said. "You can't do this!"

"Enough stalling. If you don't, things will get very unpleasant for both of you," Ivan said in a low voice. "We can do whatever we want. That's the difference between us and you. We matter. You don't."

"Why? Because you're parents have money? Your heart must've fallen out long ago," Alfred said, fisted hands shaking at his sides.

"Enough. Either lick and be forgiven. Or pay the price," Ivan said, shaking his foot. "I offered you a way to save your friend, but my patience is running thing. Hurry and lick it. It'll taste better than anything you stuff in that mouth of yours."

Ivan giggled and the others, except for Francis, chuckled as well.

Alfred's felt his face crumple as he thought of Matthew, Tino, and the pride in their eyes when he received his Letter of Acceptance. Few ever escaped their rundown neighborhood. Every morning people — from the butcher to the Chinese bakery owners — greeted Alfred with an encouraging wave and hoot. They wanted him to succeed. He had promised he would, had sworn to graduate no matter what.

Just a couple licks and it would be over. The moment would be immortalized on film and no doubt posted on You Tube. His social standing at this school couldn't get any lower, could it? What had he to lose?

"I don't have all day," Ivan said, sounding annoyed. "You have to the count of three. One."

Berwald had once told Alfred something in his odd, grunting way: Once you begin living in fear, you never stop.

"Two."

Alfred began to sink to his knees and Ivan stopped. He felt those violet eyes watching him in intense interested. There was a sob from Toris touched Alfred's shoulder, but he shrugged him off.

He looked up past that creepy smile to those eyes, dead like a fish. To the side, Gilbert stood eagerly recording and Antonio watched. He heard Gilbert mutter, "this'll be good."

And something snapped in Alfred, a rage that exploded through his body like a spark thrown on gasoline. Never in his life had he been so furious, so angry, so determined to wipe smugness off a bully's face. Images flashed through his mind — of that kid with juice poured over him, of Matthew's bullies — and before his mind knew what his body was doing, he was shooting upward on his feet.

His first arced upward, rocketing with all his upward momentum straight into Ivan's jaw where it connected hard. The senior lifted off his feet, just as everyone's jaw dropped in dawning shock, and he flew backwards with eyes bulging in shock. With a hard thud, he hit the ground and skidded within inches of Francis' feet, leaving a small groove in through the dead leaves.

For a long moment no one moved. There was only the twitter of a bird above, the distant chatter of student further down the path, and the wind rustling the leaves on the ground. Everyone appeared struck dumb.

Francis face was caught in an expression akin to that in the painting "The Scream" by Van Gogh. Gilbert and Antonio seemed trapped between horror and awe.

Alfred noticed this in the edges of his vision, his central focus remaining on Ivan who had not blinked nor stirred to wipe a way the dribble of blood from his split lip, even as it trickled slowly down his chin.

It was Alfred who broke the silence, jabbing a forefinger at Ivan who flinched. "You!" Alfred said in a raised voice. "Who the fuck are you to look down on others, Braginski? Don't go boasting about being rich off your parents' money! You're just a limp-dick brat who never earned a dime in his life! Kiss my poor fucking ass!"

And with that, Alfred shot Ivan the middle finger, kissing the tip, before he spun around and grabbed Toris' wrist. His friend yelped as Alfred dragged him off, refusing to look back, yet feeling that violet gaze burning holes in the back of his head.

While Alfred concentrated on not giving into his desire to run, his mind screamed, "What did you do?"

And was Ivan's head made of iron? Alfred's hand throbbed in pain.

He was so very dead.

***********

"Does he have a concussion?" Antonio asked, knelt in front of Ivan like the other two.

Their leader had not budged an inch since Alfred went out of sight, only continued to stare unblinking in the direction Alfred had gone. To say it was unnerving was an understatement.

"Mon dieu, how many fingers am I holding up?" Francis asked, waving four in front of Ivan's face. "Perhaps we should remove his coat and clothing?"

"What good would that do?" Gilbert growled.

"It would do me lots of good," Francis said, starting to reach for the buttons, but froze when Ivan's hand snatched his, squeezing in a warning. "Mon cheri~?"

"Hey bastard, are you brain damaged?" Gilbert asked, alternating his gaze between the screen of his smart phone and Ivan. Antonio was also looking over his shoulder, watching the replay. With an appreciative whistle, he added, "Gotta give that Jones jerk some credit. What a punch!"

Suddenly, Ivan let go of Francis and stood up, turning towards them. Then he snatched away Gilbert's phone, ignoring the albino's protest.

"Hey!"

Ivan shot Gilbert a warning look that stilled the annoyed man, then turned back to the video. He watched it intensely. His smile grew each time he rewound it. He giggled at first, then he doubled over, chortling with the creepiest high-pitched laugh Francis had ever heard.

Francis shivered, hairs rising on his forearms and nape.

"He's flipped out," Gilbert said and Antonio nodded in agreement.

"Erm… Ivan should we red-card the puta madre?" Antonio asked nervously.

Ivan went quiet, tilting his head in thought. He shook his head slowly as he stared at the phone's screen with an almost loving expression. One Francis had not seen on Ivan in a long time.

"Nyet," Ivan said. The only time Ivan spoke with Russian was when he was deeply distracted. Otherwise he had no accent. Francis only added french words because it made any language sexier. "I'll deal with him personally. After all, I'm the one he's in love with."

Gilbert's mouth fell open, Antonio's thick eyebrows shot up, and Francis almost fell over as they all said, "What?"

With a sigh, as if speaking to simpletons, Ivan said, "Can't you see? The poor fool has fallen for me. Didn't you hear him? He begged me to kiss his ass. I'll make him my toy."

Another giggle as Ivan's face softened and his eyes glazed over with a fantasy. Judging from the pink blush staining his cheeks, Francis could guess what thoughts Ivan's mind had turned to.

"He punched you. I think he meant something else," Gilbert said, as if Ivan was listening.

"Alfred F. Jones," Ivan all but purred, giggling again. He began to walk off — or in Francis' eyes — skip. "His hair is yellow like a sunflower. Hm… sunflowers suit him."

"Hey, what about my phone?" Gilbert said, following after Ivan.

Antonio stepped over to Francis and said, "El esta loco."

"We already knew that," Francis said. "Instead of an arrow, amor came in the form of a fist. That Amerique is in for more trouble than he knows. You remember what happened last time Ivan had a crush."

They all remembered what happened to Yao.

"Oh," Antonio looked over in concern. "Pobrecito."

*********

(TBC in … "In The Game of Love")


	4. Game Of Love

Muscles straining against the thick cotton fabric of his polo-shirt, right hand still aching badly from punching Ivan, Alfred pushed hard on the handle of the butter knife, attempting to wedge its blade between the dried gum and the underside of the white Formica table.

Suddenly, the knife popped loose and flew out of Alfred's grip. He fell forward, banging his forehead into the rounded edge of the table. Howling with pain, he rubbed at the injury.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled. "They cemented this bastard on!"

"Al," Matthew called in his scolding voice. Alfred's brother stood in front of the glass front doors of the Pancake Factory, cleaning them with a bottle of windex and a cloth rag. "I keep telling you to use a bag of ice or peanut butter from the pantry. It'll loosen it up. If you'd listen to me inst—."

"—that'll take too long!" Alfred interrupted, crawling under the booth's table and across the checkered floor of alternating peach and dark brown squares. Once he had retrieved the knife, he squatted next to the booth, one elbow resting on the red vinyl upholstery of its seat, and went back to work.

"Why don't you let me do that? Doesn't your hand hurt?" Matthew asked softly.

"A bit," he lied. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?" Matthew gave a couple quick sprays.

"You know the look. The one you give when you think I'm being stupid."

"What? You can read atmosphere?" Matthew said wryly. Alfred shot a frown over his shoulder at the back of his brother's head. They both wore matching sets of orange shirts and black slacks — their uniforms at the Pancake Factory.

Little by little the wad of gum loosened. "I swear this is vandalism. They super-glued it on. I wanna see the video!"

"If you want to comb through hours of security cam footage over a wad of gum, be my guest. But you'll do it without me." Matthew said, words punctuated by a couple more sprays.

"But Mattie ~ You're my back-up!" Matthew snickered at that. "Lukas would want to know this vandal!"

Matthew laughed at that. "Really, Al? Take a look at the state of this place. I doubt gum will bother him."

Their boss wasn't exactly keeping up with maintenance. There were chips, scratches, and dents everywhere, even on the silverware.

"He'd have more business here if he'd listen to my suggestions," Alfred said.

"Changing our uniform colors to red, white, and blue is not going to bring in more business."

"You can't be sure! And what about my other ideas? They're even better. Like getting rid of Mr. Stack."

Matthew gave a strangled cry and said defensively, "You leave Mr. Stack alone! I like him!"

Mr. Stack was the store mascot, visible on all the napkins and on the glass front doors and behind the counter. He was a stack of pancakes with cartoon eyes on top and pancake lips in the center of his body.

"You also like Nickleback. Your sense of taste can't be trusted," Alfred said, knowing, without looking, that his brother was glaring at him. He pointedly ignored it. "Mr. Stack is stupid. Now if it were up to me, the store mascot would be Mr. Pan-America! A bald eagle with guns that shoot maple syrup and butter stick bombs that explode. Now that would be epic!"

"Only you would think that. Kids love Mr. Stack. He's cute. And who are you to bash others' tastes? Nickleback has plenty of good songs."

"That all sound the same. As for Mr. Stack he's sick." Mathew groaned and Alfred heard him mutter 'not this again'. "He's a stack of pancakes whose phrase is, 'Yummy, dum, dum, get pancakes in your tum!' He's tells people to eat pancakes. Doesn't that make him a pannibal?"

Alfred swore he could hear Matthew rolling his eyes. "That joke will never be funny, Al. Never."

"I have no idea what you mean. It's comedy gold!" Alfred joked and then the gum popped off and landed on the floor. "Ah-hah! Did you see that? I am the hero!"

Matthew gave a very slow clap. "Oh, wow. My hero. The evil gum wad has been slain." His tone hinted at sarcasm.

"Don't be jealous. Not everyone can be the hero. Some are more suited to being sidekicks," Alfred said, plucking a napkin out of one of the metal holders on the table before using that to pick up the gum. He knew Matthew was frowning at him. He could read atmosphere, he just preferred to ignore it.

As he carried the wad around the grey counter, lined with stools of red vinyl upholstery, he glanced at his brother who was still staring at him. While they had similar faces, Matthew's was rounder and softer at the edges. He also had a leaner frame compared to Alfred's muscular, more tanned one. Their glasses were similar, but their eyes slightly different shades of blue. Where Alfred had sky-blue irises, Matthew's had a violet-tinge to his.

"Speakings of heroics," Matthew said, sounding nervous, "Do you think Ivan will retaliate?"

"Probably," Alfred said, chucking the gum in the trash before heading into the kitchen. They continued to talk in raised voices as he tossed the butter knife in the sink and took out the broom and dust pan. "But I'll take on the whole school if I have to. I'm not afraid. They can't break me! No siree!"

When he came back, Matthew had put away the windex and cloth and was now tapping on the buttons of the cash register.

"Will… will he sue you?"

"For what?"

"For assault and battery."

"Me?" Alfred guffawed. "It was in self-defense."

"You said they filmed it."

"Yeah. Hope they post it," Alfred said, pausing to stare off dreamily until he noticed Matthew frowning at him. "What? It was an awesome punch. I want to relive knocking out that creep."

Matthew shook his head. "Al, they could use that as evidence."

"Against me? He was the one ordering me and Toris to lick his shoes."

There was the jingle of keys as Matthew fished out the Pancake Factory's key ring from his back pocket. After Matthew inserted the smallest key and turned it, the register began printing out a receipt with all the transactions for the days.

Shaking his head, Matthew said, "They can edit the footage. Plus you'll have to describe how the punch was self-defense. You could have walked away."

"How was it not? Way to kill my hero buzz. You make it sound like I should've just licked his shoe," Alfred said, starting to sweep furiously around the stools. He kicked up more dust than gathered it.

"Never mind," Matthew said with a heavy sigh. "I can believe Louis Bonnaparte and Old Fritz' sons are such jerks. I always thought their kids would be… erm…"

"Like the dads? Maybe they are," Alfred said.

"No, they aren't like that," Matthew insisted. "I wish I could meet Louis. His recipes are so amazing."

"I think you'd lick his shoes if given the chance," Alfred said, flashing his brother a grin.

"I love his souffle recipe," Matthew sighed, looking lost in a daydream. "I wish I could cook like him."

"You'll be better than him one day. You'll be the world's greatest chef," Alfred said, opening his arms wide.

"Y-you really think so?"

"I know so. Heck, even Lukas would admit most of the customers come here only when you're in the kitchen. They know you're schedule better than you!"

"Y-you're exaggerating," Matthew said, dropping his gaze to the register, but he couldn't hide the smile ghosting his lips or the faint pink blush on his cheeks. "I'm not that good."

"Oh, come off it. If I didn't work out so much you'd need a crane to get me up the stairs of our apartment, I'd be so fat from eating your cooking," Alfred said, beaming at his brother who quickly looked away. He knew Matthew was turning bright red, like he did whenever anyone praised him.

When his brother turned back, he had a sad look in his eyes and Alfred could guess why. Matthew felt incredibly guilty at the cost of his culinary school's tuition. The only reason they could afford it was because Alfred had free tuition right now. If Alfred was kicked out of Hetalia High, Matthew might have to drop out as well.

Alfred refused to let that happen.

"S-so will Toris be all right?" Matthew asked in a shaky voice, clearly wanting a new topic.

"I already told you. I left him with the school nurse. He seemed better. I wish I had a phone, then he could text me." Alfred bent to sweep under a table.

"Yeah…" Matthew said. "Alejandro keeps pestering me to get one as well."

Alfred grunted, but said nothing. Matthew was aware that Alfred and Alejandro disliked each other. He really didn't know why his brother insisted on dating that Cuban creep nor what he saw in him.

Deciding to lighten the mood, Alfred joked, "You think Lukas' hair curl might give us a loan?"

Matthew chuckled softly as he squatted down, no doubt checking stock. "For the last time, it's not possessed or sentient. His hair tends to stick up. That's all. It's a different strand."

"It's the same one and it moves, Mattie. It moves," Alfred insisted, voice going a little higher than intended. "I hope it's not e-e-evil."

Matthew peeked above the counter, one blond eyebrow arched. "So you believe one strand of hair rips itself out by the roots and moves around his scalp?"

"It's possessed, Mattie. Ghosts are real," Alfred said, voice quaking. "I've shown the proof."

"Ghost Hunters is a TV show. It's not proof."

"A reality TV show. Based on reality."

"Good grief," Matthew said, disappearing back below. "I still can't believe you get scared watching that stuff."

"Coz it's real," Alfred said. "I showed you that civil war episode they filmed in Gettysburg. And that hair curl is weird."

"I'll agree that Lukas is weird."

"That too."

Their boss was obsessed with trolls, his office papered with posters of them. He had salt on the windows and often wore mismatched socks to work, claiming the gnomes stole the other one. And on more than one occasion, they had passed his office to hear him having a conversation in Norwegian to no one in particular.

"Why don't you head home? I can close up," Matthew said, sounding like he was moving stock around.

"No way. We go home together. This isn't an easy neighborhood," Alfred said.

"Then at least study. I can finish the cleaning. You have a lot of work."

"I'll be fine," Alfred said, gathering up the dust in a pile.

"We'll be careful tomorrow," Matthew said, sounding concerned. "Ivan sounds unstable."

"Eh, what's the worst that he'll do? Try to beat me up?" Alfred said. "As long as it stays at school I can handle it."

**********

There was not enough coffee in the universe to rouse Alfred from the haze of sleep. The deep bags under his eyes were a testament to that.

Pre-dawn shadows masked the grime, potholes, and numerous cracks of the street and sidewalk. He carried Tony down the cracked concrete steps of the brick apartment's stoop and set him down.

After mounting Tony, he pumped the petals and took off down the street, careful of the corners where young men gathered and slouched around in groups. Fortunately, most of the gangs liked Alfred. Unfortunately, they liked him too much and kept pushing him to join. That was a trade he wanted to stay clear of.

Once out of the rougher side of town, Alfred let his guard down and began to enjoy the ride. The street lamps turned off, but there were still a couple stars out. Venus gleamed proudly in a crisp sky on the verge of daylight.

Too busy admiring Venus, Alfred did not notice the unmarked white van following him from along the street. When he braked and waited for a stoplight to change, he did not notice it also stopped nor the men two men in dark grey jumpsuits that stepped out behind him.

Only when a limo pulled up in front of him, blocking the cross walk, did he start to notice something was wrong. A frown grew on his features as he wondered why a limo was out in this part of town.

The passenger window in its rear rolled down to reveal a pale, square face, one that made Alfred's blood run cold as he recognized Ivan. Ivan stared at him, smiling knowingly.

A small glance behind Alfred was the only warning he had before a black bag was pulled over his head. His whole body sprung into action, limbs flailing as arms snaked around his waist and limbs, dragging him off Tony.

He tried to shout, but a large hand clamped over his mouth and the map made it difficult to bit into the palm. He bucked and twisted, managing to kick one of his attackers who gave an "oomph".

Then he felt a pinprick in his neck from a sharp needle sliding under the skin. Hot liquid coursed through his veins and his body went limp, strength ebbing away.

"Take the bike," A voice grunted.

"Mmph," Alfred said, words muffled. His body would no longer obey him.

He was dragged; he heard the van's side door slide open before they tossed him inside.

He never felt himself hit the floor. The last thing he remembered thinking was "Ivan is kidnapping me".

*****

(TBC in… "Be My Toy")


End file.
